


Cherry Ice-Cream Smile

by Tony



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bottom!Eames, Dirty Talk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tony/pseuds/Tony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames gets hurt on the job. Arthur is there to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Ice-Cream Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [solutionforreality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solutionforreality/gifts).



> For Solutionforreality over on tumblr. 
> 
> Bless her for being the only person who prompted me when asked, and damn her for prompting me something that was not my kink lol.
> 
> Bottom!Eames is very new territory for me. This was a very "wing it" situation, so if their characterization is a bit off, I apologize.

The extraction was going beautifully, Arthur mused, twirling the key to the safety deposit box around his finger casually. Eames was at his side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, mirroring the careless smile Arthur had on his own lips. They strode up to the blue metal box and the Point Man easily stuck the key in the lock. “Drinks when we’re done?” Arthur asked as he began to open the small door that would reveal the Mark’s darkest secrets and ensure them a hefty reward.

But Eames wasn’t there when Arthur turned his head. Arthur’s dimples vanished and he looked around, his stomach suddenly twisting with a tickle of fear. “Eames?” he asked, and then he was falling, falling back into a familiar darkness. He was waking up. But he shouldn’t be waking up—they still had a good half hour in the dream world!

Arthur’s body felt heavy as lead as the first signs of reality began to show themselves. He’d been woken up early and still felt groggy, a headache forming. It didn’t help that there was shouting, some sort of scuffle, and then he was opening his eyes and ripping the needle from his arm as he saw three suited men, two of them holding Eames down and one of them on Cobb. They had guns, they looked angry, and a glance at Eames’ face had Arthur’s heart pounding right out of his chest.

The Forger was sporting a busted lip and a cut cheek, the purple hint of a bruise already teasing at Eames’ right eye. All at once, Arthur stiffened and glared at the men, looking between them to see who’d be the easiest to pick off first. There was a gun in the back of his waistband, and he—oh _shit_. The gun wasn’t there. His eyes flicked up to meet the sneer of a greasy-haired thug.

“Lookin’ for this, Princess?” the stranger purred, waving the silver-handed pistol victoriously. “Just sit tight and you won’t have to get hurt.”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. His head was definitely clear now, the adrenaline rush flushing the haze of somnacin from his blood. He looked at Cobb, whose face was deadpan, hands behind his head. Nash was out cold with what looked like a broken nose (never _was_ a proper fighter). They’d been ambushed. The Mark was rousing from the hotel room bed, looking tired and much too smug for Arthur’s liking.

He watched as the Mark pulled the needle from his arm and slid off the bed, pulling his own gun from inside his grey suit jacket. “Gregory set me up, didn’t he? Fuckin’ bastard. Knew it was coming. I thought you guys were supposed to be good at this sort of stuff.”

They all had guns pointed at them now, and Arthur’s fingers itched to break the Mark’s arm, but the older man was standing just too far out of reach for Arthur to do anything about it.

Cobb spoke. “We are not at liberty to discuss who sent us here.”

The man pointing a gun at Cobb clocked him in the back of the head with the butt of his 9Mm and spat, “You god damned right you’re gonna talk or your brains are gonna be splattered all over the wall, fucker!”

Silence was Cobb’s only reply and the Mark let out an exasperated sigh.

Arthur hissed, “If you kill us, you never find out who sent us.”

Eames, scowling with his cheek pressed into the floor and hands behind his back, gave Arthur a warning glare. He didn’t want to see Arthur get hurt for having a big mouth. Arthur could understand. It was mutual.

A snort from the Mark, and cold blue eyes were suddenly looking down at Arthur with what was unmistakably pity. “You would sell for top dollar, you know that? Maybe we’ll keep you alive and see how high the bids will go for such a pretty face, eh? As for the rest of you-“

For the briefest of seconds, the Mark’s gaze turned to the rest of the room, and Arthur took advantage of that moment to spring from the bed and tackle him. There was shouting behind him, gunshots fired, and Arthur heard Eames crying out in pain suddenly. He didn’t look back, couldn’t, and when the gun was wrestled from the Mark, he promptly shoved the metal barrel into the man’s mouth and pulled the trigger, not wasting a single moment longer before turning and planting another bullet in one of the goons who’d been pinning Eames to the ground.

The scuffle was a bit of a blur, but Arthur had come out relatively unscathed, Cobb with only a knot on the back of his head.

Eames, though, had a bullet wound in his shoulder, metal shards embedded deep in what was thankfully muscle, and not an organ or an artery. The Forger was in visible pain, hissing as Arthur tried to inspect the wound. “Piss off, that hurts you know!”

Arthur had snarled in response, making Eames flinch. His hands shook as he pushed away and went to stand at the window, pressing buttons long memorized. Only one ring and Arthur was speaking into the phone. “We need a medic at the South Hampton warehouse **_now_**. Bullet removal. Mission was a failure.”

Cobb was hastily gathering the PASIV and helping Eames to his feet when Arthur turned around. “Let’s go.”

A hasty exit down the fire escape ensured the security guards didn’t catch them.

+

Ten hours later, Arthur was curled against Eames’ back, arms wrapped around the Forger’s waist, dozing. The shards of bullet had been removed, Eames’ shoulder had been bandaged, and Arthur’s nerves were officially shot to shit.

Restless movement from the bulky form at his front had Arthur fluttering his eyes open and lifting his head from the pillow. “Hey, you awake?” he slurred, sitting up on one elbow to smile sleepily down at Eames.

Grunting, Eames nodded and licked his chapped lips, tonguing the cut he’d received earlier with mild curiosity. “Unfortunately. You don’t happen to have a margarita lying around do you? I could really use one right about now.”

Arthur dimpled and ran a hand through his lover’s hair, kissing Eames’ bruised eye and gently rolling the man onto his back. “Here. I’ll go lie on couch, let you have the bed.”

“Mm, please don’t,” came Eames’ garbled reply, reaching out with his good arm to latch onto Arthur’s wrist. “I was having such a nice dream… You were blowing me and it was wonderful, you were so sexy… Mm, just stay with me. I don’t feel good.”

Quirking a smile, Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed and arched his eyebrows knowingly down at Eames. “You know you can’t dream, Eames. You’re full of shit.”

Eames’ mouth twitched. “Yes, but it’s a nice idea, isn’t it?”

Arthur sighed and bent to kiss Eames on the corner of his mouth, avoiding his hurt lip. Eames’ hand came up to the back of his head and he sighed, brushing his lips just a little closer to Eames’ open, inviting mouth. He flicked his tongue out just to tease, and whispered, “I was worried. You scared me.”

“I know you were Darling, and I’m so glad you were there to save my bacon. Now how about I give you the handsome reward you deserve?”

Dimples on full display again, Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’re a jackass.”

“And you love me for it,” Eames purred.

They were in the back of the warehouse, a slightly chilly room with a deadbolt on the door and a comfortable if not overused bed. The side table had everything anyone could want—anyone needing privacy for a few days at least. This included condoms and lubricant of course, because when you leave a man to his own devices for so long, he usually tends to get a little lonely.

“Come on Darling, I know the mission was a bust, but let’s celebrate my continued existence, shall we? Mind the arm, there’s a Love.”

Arthur growled and pushed the heavy knit blanket aside, hand immediately going to Eames’ groin. Long, pale fingers dug into a sun-tanned, thick muscled thigh. His hand slid up, skimmed passed the hardening bulge in Eames’ briefs, and settled at his hip, Arthur’s thumb rubbing slow circles into the flesh. “I don’t want you to ever get hurt on a job again. I don’t care what lengths you have to go to, I just don’t ever want to see you in that much pain again. Do you understand me?”

A nod, quick and eager, Eames’ eyes bright and locked onto Arthur’s. “Yes. If that’s what you want. Anything.”

Eames was so beautiful, even with the bandages over his chest and wrapped under one arm, covering a bullet hole that still oozed pink plasma. Every inch of Eames was fantastic, delightful, worth worshipping, from those god damned crooked teeth to his curled, useless pinky. Arthur bent over him and sealed his mouth over one dusky nipple, breathing in the sweat and the stale cologne, tongue flicking over little bumps and teeth pulling at the sensitive peak in his mouth. He licked and bit, his right hand giving Eames’ other nipple just as much attention, pinching and tweaking and rubbing.

Arthur was hard in his slacks, probably shouldn’t be in such a tender situation, but most definitely was. Eames was very needy, not a lot of people knew this. Eames would beg for attention silently, inadvertently, and loudly when he was drunk off his ass. Arthur loved that side of Eames, the needy side, the side of the Forger that no one else got to see. Eames flirts with anything that walks, he teases and buys drinks for others, he might even cop a feel or two, but at the end of the night, Eames belongs to Arthur, and Arthur is the only one that can give the man what he needs, what he wants. Arthur is the only one that can reduce Eames to a panting, flushed mess.

Moving lower on Eames’ body, Arthur’s tongue dipped into the man’s navel once before going lower, through the line of thick honey-wheat hair disappearing under a white waistband. He loves how big Eames is, how bulky, loves the dusting of hair all over Eames’ body, the tattoos curling around chest and arms and ribs. He does worship Eames’ body, loves it, treats it right, and respects it. Eames has told him more than once that he’s never had anyone look at his body like Arthur does, like it’s a thing of perfection. Arthur had laughed and subsequently gone down on Eames for a solid hour, teasing until the Englishman was begging to cum. Arthur enjoys knowing he does these things to Eames, makes Eames feel like no one else has made him feel.

“Fuck, get on with it, will you?” Eames finally hissed.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. He’d been mouthing at the fabric over Eames’ erection, teasing again, always teasing, most of the time unconsciously. He smirked. There was a snarky quip he could have voiced, more than one actually, but Eames was hurt already, morphine dulling the pain but still very much hurting the man. He nodded and sat back, pulling Eames’ underwear down his thick meaty thighs, down and off, enjoying the way Eames’ huge, uncut prick sprang up to meet him.

“I’ll have to take you up on that offer to blow you later,” Arthur stated offhandedly, and then he was unbuckling his own belt and pushing his fitted slacks down his thighs just enough to free his erection.

They’d just fucked that morning, and the previous night as well, and when Arthur spread Eames’ thighs and pressed in two slick fingers, there was little resistance. His cock throbbed, his head swam and his lips parted as he sank his fingers in, ridiculously aroused at how loose he’d made his lover, how open Eames was for him already.

Arthur thrust his fingers a few times, grazing his curled fingertips over Eames’ prostate, and then he was pulling out, licking his lips and tearing the condom wrapper open like his life depended on it.

Eames’s breath audibly caught and he spread his legs further, bent his knees more. He was keeping his upper body as still as possible, not wanting to aggravate his wound, but his calves were tensed and his hips couldn’t stop wriggling.

Bent once more over Eames, Arthur shimmied between the man’s thighs and pressed those bulging legs back further, against Eames’ chest, finally hooking one elbow under one of Eames’ knees and guiding himself to Eames’ entrance hastily. “I don’t care that we lost the job,” he blurted suddenly, and their eyes met as the head of his dick pressed to Eames’ entrance. “I don’t care, we’re taking a vacation. Gonna take you to Rio and fuck your brains out. We’re gonna fuck on the beach, we’ll go to a nude beach and fuck, right in front of everybody.”

And _there_ was a secret that Eames kept in the bedroom—Arthur was a talker. Courteous and proper in the workplace, a filthy, dirty mouth in bed. Eames groaned and dug his fingers into the covers as Arthur sank into him. “I don’t think I want to get banned from Rio, Love. I like it there t-too much,” he gasped, head lolling back against the pillows as Arthur rocked into him, setting a steady pace immediately.

“I don’t care, I don’t give a single fuck Eames, we’re going to lay in that hot sand and I’m going to show everyone how much of a slut you are for it,” Arthur growled, snapping his hips flush to Eames’, one hand going up to cup the Forger’s jaw, thumb brushing fat pink lips and sinking into wet heat as Eames licked and moaned around the digit. “Look at you, oh my God, you fucking got SHOT today and you still want it, you can’t get enough, can you? Jesus, Eames.”

Eames felt himself blush, reaching down with his good arm and grabbing hold of himself, stroking his leaking dick in time with the snap of Arthur’s thrusts. Most of what Arthur said while they fucked was a lark, just something that sounded sexy at the time, and it would usually go no further than the bedroom. Eames never was one for dirty talk, was always too focused on the sex itself. He had a bit of a one-track mind when fucking. He certainly appreciated Arthur’s babbling though, that was for sure.

Arthur’s mouth hung open, his breath coming in a hot rush as he leaned back on his haunches and held Eames’ legs apart, his eyes raking hungrily over everything that was his, everything that Eames had to offer. His pace stuttered briefly as his gaze fixed on the wound, the bandages ruffled and tinted a darker pink. Eames’ face was bunched up in pleasured pain, a look very familiar to Arthur, and he _knew_ Eames was enjoying it, _knew_ that if Eames wanted Arthur to stop, he’d say as much. But Arthur still clenched his jaw, glared at the dirtied bandages, hated himself for not being more prepared, not saving his lover from such a wound.

With a low growl, Arthur grabbed onto Eames’ hips and thrust once, twice, three times more, and then he was cumming, eyebrows furrowed and manicured nails raking red streaks into Eames’ sides. “Shit, fuck, Eames, _God_!”

Below the Point Man, Eames whimpered and jerked himself, eyes screwed shut and teeth digging into his lips. He felt Arthur’s hand smack his own away and then he was gasping, arching up into the touch as his boyfriend jerked him to completion.

The room was silent but Arthur’s head pounded, blood rushing in his ears. Eames’ own head resounded with a high pitched ringing. Their bodies were still entwined, sweaty and twitching and heaving with gasped breaths. They looked at each other and smiled, Eames’ a little weak and Arthur’s unreasonably apologetic.

Arthur dislodged himself first and slid off the bed, wincing at the groan of rusty springs deep in the mattress. He slid the condom off and frowned down at the front of his Armani slacks, the lubricant stains a tell-tale glisten on the front. He shouldn’t have been so hasty. Now he had to worry about people staring at his crotch…

“Bloody fuck I think I’m done for the rest of the year. See you in January, Darling, wake me if there’s an emergency.”

Turning his head with a fond grin, Arthur put his softened cock away and zipped himself up, running a hand through his disheveled hair with a sigh. “I thought we were going to Rio. Didn’t like that idea?”

Eames barked a laugh, pulling the covers back over himself and sinking down into the pillows. He was messy and aching between his legs, cum lazily wiped off on the top cover (surprise for whoever stays in the room next), but for now he just wanted to sleep. “You’re insane, you know that? Now get me a hoagie, I’m bedridden and hungry as fuck.”

Arthur dimpled beautifully, a sly smile at his lover on the bed. He smoothed the front of his dress shirt and straightened his tie. “I’ll tell Cobb you’re feeling better. Maybe by Wednesday you’ll be ready for the beach.”

“Piss off!” Eames drawled as Arthur left the room. He went back to sleep easily, the morphine more than a little appreciated.

On the way to the sub shop down the street, Arthur pulled his pea coat tighter around himself. The collar hid his private smile as he pulled out his phone and dialed another well-memorized number.

“Yes, it’s Penrose. I need two tickets to Rio de Janeiro for this weekend.”

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this is the last detour I take before updating Father Figure haha... For anyone reading that, keep a lookout, I have a bit of a surprise in store for you.


End file.
